


Yet Another LUCKY Day...

by xenospider



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, Dark Humor, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:30:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenospider/pseuds/xenospider
Summary: Wade is absolutely devastated when he witnesses the death of Spider-Man. Having to do it over and over again is so much worse! Why is this happening?!This fic is DARK COMEDY with a HAPPY ENDING.Spideypool Big Bang 2017 entry with art by Chez.





	Yet Another LUCKY Day...

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by the talented [Chez](http://petitechez-theminion.tumblr.com/post/164211341670)! (Click that link for tumblr post to reblog!)

It all seemed to happen in slow motion: the last few beeps, the quiet click as circuits connected, the hiss of empty web shooters, the last syllable shouted before it was cut off by a fiery blast--the beginning of Deadpool’s name.

Deadpool didn't have the speed nor the reflexes to get there in time, even though he had the willingness to be a meat shield. He would do anything for Spidey. Anything.

But he couldn’t do this one thing.

“ _Peter!”_ he screamed, voice lost in the explosion and rumble of debris crashing to the ground. Feet crunching against the pavement, he dashed forward to catch Spider-Man as he was hurled through the air with the force of the blast.

Catching the limp form in his arms, Deadpool didn’t waste any time carrying him off to the safety of a nearby patch of grass outside the museum, to lay him down where it was still soft. He searched for injuries, and there were too many count. Too much blood. Shards of glass, shards of metal, god he was a mess.

“Spidey? Come on, Spidey! Why you gotta… Why’d you gotta…?” But Deadpool knew why. Spider-Man had been too busy saving people. Too busy getting civilians out of harm’s way. It was obvious he’d been ignoring his spider-sense just so that he could save one more person. Always one more person.

What about Peter? His life was valuable too!

Peter wasn’t responding. Deadpool didn’t want to pull off his mask to check his eyes, though one of the big lenses was cracked and he could see them closed underneath. Instead, he pulled the mask over Peter’s nose to check for a pulse, ripping his glove off with his teeth and feeling over bloodied skin with scarred fingers.

Nothing.

“C’mon, Webs, don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me now. You don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. God _fucking_ dammit, don’t leave me alone like this!” Deadpool leaned down and put his ear to Peter’s mouth, trying to listen and feel for any sort of breath.

With the danger passed, a crowd was gathering to gawk and see what was going on. Spider-Man was seen in mixed light in the eyes of New York City, but he was still by and large viewed as a hero. He was a member of the Avengers, and he’d recently saved the Mayor’s life. Even the Daily Bugle had eased up on him a little. And he and Deadpool… well, they had been together, and things had been _good_.

Maybe too good.

Maybe it was Deadpool’s shitty luck.

Maybe it was Peter’s.

Voice cracking into a sob, Deadpool collapsed on top of Peter’s chest, clinging to him. He removed his own mask and tried to listen for a heartbeat. Pressing his ear hard into the damaged flesh, he tried again and again in different places, and still. Nothing.

Great heaving sobs shook Deadpool’s shoulders as he buried his face against the shredded and bloody spandex covering Peter’s chest. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be happening. Of all the people in his life, Deadpool couldn’t think of anyone more good and pure and strong and heroic than Peter. There were some tough contenders, but at the end of the day, nobody came close.

Peter was the best. He was the best there ever was, and the best there ever would be, and he was just _gone_. Just like that. Though he was already so damaged inside, Deadpool’s core was shattered. Nothing would be the same anymore. He’d finally found some measure of peace, stability, some little shred of _happiness_ in life, and here it was lying battered, broken, _bleeding_ in his arms.

Spider-Man was dead. Deadpool’s tears made tracks in the dust and blood on his face, dripping onto the black spider design on Peter’s chest. He stared at Peter’s mask, trying to picture his smile again, vision blurred by more tears that had yet to fall. He couldn’t stop them. It felt like he’d drown in them, and right then he didn’t give a damn. Let it happen, let everyone see. His reputation couldn’t get any lower anyway.

“Huh.”

Deadpool blinked, moisture squeezing out of his eyes, and looked up to see an ugly old man (with an uglier black mustache) standing nearby. “You got something to say, Sparky?”

The man looked down at Spider-Man, then up at Deadpool, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “Well. People did say he had an… _explosive_ personality.” He lifted a hand to pinch and twirl the end of that stupid mustache. Giggled.

He fucking _giggled_.

Deadpool saw red. The callous disrespect shown to Spider-Man by this stupid old man sent him into a rage. “ _What did you say!!”_

Leaping to his feet, he made to lunge for the geizer and punch his fucking head off, but a solid hand grabbed him around the elbow.

“Well if it isn’t _Iron Dick!_ ” Deadpool snarled, jerking on his arm, trying to get free of Tony’s grasp.

“Deadpool. You can’t go assaulting civilians.” Tony’s voice was hidden by his mask, and Deadpool couldn’t tell what expression he was wearing. He was sure it was a smug, superior one.

“Like hell I can’t! Did you hear what he fucking said?!” Deadpool pointed his free hand at the old man, but he had disappeared into the crowd. “Fuck! He got away!”

Iron Man’s grip grew firmer on his arm, and he stepped in to talk more quietly. “Deadpool… Wade… please. This is an awful day. Please, Peter wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“He wouldn’t want to be dead, neither!” Deadpool threw a punch right at Tony’s mask, and he hit it so hard that the sound of his knuckles cracking was clearly heard. “Ow! Fuck!”

“Let me take care of him, please?” Tony wasn’t getting mad. He was keeping his cool.

Or was he? Maybe Deadpool heard the wobbly note of grief in Tony’s voice as well. Surely Iron Dildo would have sensors in his suit to tell him for sure that Peter was dead.

Deadpool shook his head. “He’s _my_ boyfriend, I can take care of him!”

“We have ways of… hiding what happened. We don’t want his identity to become known. You don’t want his aunt, or his other friends, to suffer at the hands of his enemies. Ones who are frustrated that they didn’t get to take out their grudges on Spider-Man himself.”

That was far too reasonable an argument. Deadpool hated _reasonable arguments_. They usually ran counter to everything that his gut was telling him to do. Not that his gut was really that smart.

Scowling, Deadpool made to shrug Tony’s arm off again, and Tony finally released him. “ _Fine_ ,” he spat. “We’ll do it your way.” He didn’t want to do it Tony’s way. He wanted to do it _his_ way. At the same time, he didn’t want any harm to come to Aunt May, or anyone else Peter loved.

Besides, he didn’t truly know what he would do. It was better to leave such matters to people who were generally more competent than he was.

Deadpool was under no delusions that he was good for anything except beating things up, killing, and screwing up his life. Especially now, when he’d… been unable to save someone he cared about. Someone he cared the _most_ about.

As he left the scene, Deadpool didn’t bother lifting the police tape, he just sliced right through it. He was in no mood to be respectful of anything. Immediately he was swarmed by a horde of salivating reporters wanting to ask him about what had happened. Some were trying to put the responsibility on _his_ shoulders, make it look like _his_ fault that Spider-Man was dead.

Only Tony’s warning shout as Deadpool lifted a gun to a terrified reporter’s head stopped him from pulling the trigger. (At point blank range, right in the forehead, even rubber bullets would kill.) Instead, he plugged one ear and fired repeatedly into the air, shouting threats and obscenities. _That_ scattered the crowd sure enough, and he was left with an empty street.

Pumping his legs, he started to run, run, run. He wanted to keep running until his legs burned and his throat was raw. He wanted to run until he couldn’t remember his name. Until he couldn’t remember anything.

He got ten blocks down Madison Avenue before he saw someone else with a mustache, and he remembered that asshole old man with his mustache, and his stupid pun, remembered that Peter was dead, and that he was alone again, that it was his own fault, and he would probably be alone forever. The sunset visible down the cross street was beautiful, mocking him in his grief.

Stopping by an alleyway, Deadpool punched a wall hard enough to break his knuckles again. It hurt. The pain felt good. He wanted to do it again.

Slipping into the dim light between the two buildings, he tucked himself behind a dumpster where he could scream and punch the wall until there was nothing left of his hands but bloody stumps.

His fists made crunching noises and wet splats against the brick as he made it halfway there, before he couldn’t handle it anymore. Finally numb, he turned his back to the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the ground, staring at the concrete between his knees.

Spidey was gone. Peter was gone.

Anything would be a welcome relief from this pain.

_People did say he had an… explosive personality._

Lips curling into a sneer, Deadpool unholstered his favorite handgun. The large caliber one, the one that made the biggest holes. The one he’d named Vanessa. Snapping open the clip, he replaced the rubber tipped bullets with lethal rounds from the stash he kept in one of his pouches. He brought the gun up to his forehead and pressed it against his mask right between his eyes.

“Stupid old man. I’ll give _you_ ‘explosive personality’,” he muttered, and pulled the trigger.

_BLAM!!_

\---

Deadpool woke up alone in the alley. It was dark, early morning. For a few blissful minutes, he was conscious but his brain hadn’t sorted itself out yet and he couldn’t remember anything. He still had Vanessa clutched in his fingers. He slipped her back into her holster and stood up, wiping grime and dirt off his ass. What he was doing in the alley, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything yet.

Some instinct pointed him towards his apartment. He stared down at the sidewalk as he plodded along, boots dragging on the concrete. His memories slowly began to knit themselves back together, and he wanted to die all over again, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t change anything.

At least he’d wait until he got to the comfort of his own home, and maybe jacked off while crying a few times into one of Peter’s shirts, before he blew another hole in his head.

A news broadcast was running on a TV he saw through a storefront window. He was sure he’d seen it before, but who the hell knew with the way his memory went.

It was sometime later when he arrived at his apartment and dug for the keys amongst his pouches. He looked down at his hand, staring at his keyring sitting in his palm, and for a moment he couldn’t remember which key opened the door.

Eventually he got his thoughts in order and shoved the Hello Kitty key into the lock and turned the deadbolt. He flung the door open, and immediately went into high alert when he saw someone standing there with their back to the door.

Then they turned, and it was Peter. Deadpool went into such a state of apoplectic shock that he stood there mutely, jaw flapping uselessly.

“There you are!” Peter said. “Get lost on your way home again?” He smirked, that stupid smug smirk that Deadpool loved and also loved to hate.

“I--” Deadpool felt his throat close up and he couldn’t say anything. He staggered forward and wrapped his arms around Peter tight, all sorts of confusing emotions flooding through him.

Was he hallucinating? Had he been hallucinating before? What the hell was going on? God it was good to feel Peter again, to smell him. He didn’t want this to be a dream. He wanted Peter to be alive and warm in his arms like this.

“You okay?” Peter hugged him back and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “You forgot the donuts, didn’t you.”

Donuts. _Donuts_. Deadpool had gone out early for donuts the day before. And the news program! It had been breaking news out of Providence, but he’d seen it already! Was this the day before?

Deadpool pulled back, fingers clutched desperately at Peter’s shoulders. “Peter. Petey. Pete. Baby boy. Please, please, what day is it?”

Peter’s brows drew together and his forehead crinkled in that way that Deadpool thought was just so fucking adorable. “Hey, Wade, seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Just tell me what day it is!!”

Shaking his head, Peter reached out to pull Deadpool’s mask off. Which miraculously had no bullet hole or blood in it. “It’s Tuesday, babe.”

Tuesday. Well that didn’t fucking help him, because Deadpool rarely knew what day it was anyway. He blinked at his mask, and its intact state. Had the events at the museum been a dream, or a hallucination? It had felt so real.

Peter was still staring at him with concern. “Uh, you sure you’re okay?”

There was the love of his life, standing right in front of him, concerned about him. Breathing. Alive. Deadpool reached out to cup Peter’s face gently, and leaned in to kiss him. A smile spread over his face. “Yeah, I’m great. Sorry about the donuts. You wanna go out for pancakes instead?”

Peter had been studying for a test on particle physics that morning, so he dragged his flash cards with him to the restaurant. Deadpool helped quiz him over breakfast, asking from the prompts on the cards with cheeks stuffed full of pancake and syrup dribbling down his chin. Peter spent part of the time trying to answer the questions seriously, part of the time fussing at Deadpool for being silly, and part of the time unable to stop from laughing.

They parted ways afterward, so that Peter could get to class, and Deadpool could get on with being Deadpool and doing Deadpool sorts of things. Which usually consisted of looking for trouble to either cause or solve.

On this lovely Tuesday, Deadpool made his way to the Hellhouse bar to catch up with Weasel. He swaggered in through the door, and a tall burly man with a mohawk, spikes on his leather vest, and piercings all over slammed right into him.

“Hey! Watch it!” Deadpool frowned.

“Watch yerself, dumbass.” The dude spat on the ground.

Oh hell no. Scowling, Deadpool grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted his arm. “You say what to me? You gonna apologize?”

“Ah! Shit! Fine, fine, sorry!”

“‘Swhat I fuckin’ thought.” Deadpool let go of the man’s hand and turned towards the bar.

Behind him, he heard the guy mutter, “Stupid spandex fruitcake.”

Whirling, Deadpool pulled his gun and aimed it. Before he could hit the guy with a rubber bullet to teach him a lesson, Weasel shouted at him from the bar.

“Wade! Bring it down a notch!”

Deadpool narrowed his eyes, but didn’t lower his gun just yet. “It’s your lucky day, bub.”

“Fuckin’ freak.”

“ _Wade._ ”

Grumbling to himself, Deadpool holstered his gun and meandered around the mostly empty tables until he got to the counter and slid into his favorite seat.

Without asking what he wanted, Weasel fixed him a whiskey sour and slid it across the counter to him.

“Come on, Weas, it ain’t even noon yet,” Deadpool complained, poking at the glass.

Weasel shoved his glasses up his nose and shrugged. “You look like you could use it. What’s got your panties in a twist today?”

Muttering, Deadpool pushed the glass back and forth between his fingers before he pulled his mask up far enough to swallow the contents in one go. It burned on the way down, but it was a good burn. He was a big boy and didn’t even cough. “Had a bad dream,” he said. That was the best explanation for it that he could think of.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Weasel mixed him up another drink and handed it over.

Deadpool shrugged. “Nah. Just gotta wait ‘til it’s outta my system is all.” He just sipped at his whiskey this time. “How’s tricks?”

Off on the other end of the bar, one of Weasel’s wait staff lost his footing and dumped over an entire tray of glasses, which smashed on the floor, scattering shards and alcohol all over the tile.

“Good job, champ!” one of the patrons said with a laugh.

“Fuck off, Clarence!” the server replied with an obscene gesture.

With a shrug, Weasel leaned on the bar and gave Deadpool a smirk. “Eh. You know. The usual.”

After he’d shot the shit with Weasel for a couple hours, Deadpool brushed off his tab (yet again) with a promise to pay up later, and headed back out into the New York streets. Peter would be done with his exam by then, but Deadpool knew he’d be heading in to work at the Bugle right afterwards for a few hours. 

Peter sure had a lot of tests. It felt like Peter had just _taken_ a test. Deadpool hadn’t even gotten into college, much less a Master’s program like what Peter was working on. He couldn't imagine so much studying and memorizing. 

Killing time wandering around Central Park, Deadpool stopped two muggings and a case of domestic abuse, so he was feeling that things were right with the world when he got the text from his Spidey saying that he was free and ready to go patrolling together.

Just then, Deadpool heard sirens from the direction of the western end of the park near the museum. He sent a message to Peter to meet him there.

… Wait a minute.

This was in his dream.

This had all happened before.

Oh no.

Sirens, screaming, shouting, running, fighting, smashing. Bomb.

“ _Peter!”_

No, no, no, not again. This couldn’t be happening again. This was just like before. How could that be? How could this happen??

“C’mon, Webs, don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to me. God _fucking_ dammit, don’t leave me alone like this!”

“Well. People did say he had an… _explosive_ personality.”

Deadpool lost it. Throat raw, he didn’t hesitate this time. He shot that old man right in the face, and ran off before Iron Man could catch up with him. He punched his way through the reporters and dashed into an alley to hide, staring at the blood all over his hands. Peter’s blood.

_Again_.

No pounding on the wall this time. Deadpool just ate a bullet and left it at that. 

\---

It had been a premonition. Some kind of vision. It had happened the way he’d dreamed it, the entire damn day. Who had given him this vision?

Trudging back to his apartment, Deadpool stopped and stared at the TV in the shop window. Breaking news about Providence. Again? What the fuck?

Heart pounding, he rushed the rest of the way home, picked out his Hello Kitty key, and threw the door open.

“Peter!” he shouted.

Peter stood right there. He blinked as he turned around.

“There you are!” Peter said. “Get lost on your way home again?” He smirked.

“I--” Deadpool swallowed and slammed the door behind him with his foot, wrapping his arms tight around Peter. Seeing him die once had been bad enough, but _twice?_ That had been fucking horrible!

Was he still hallucinating?

“You okay?” Peter hugged him back, and patted him on the shoulder. “You forgot the donuts, didn’t you.”

Deadpool pulled away and curled his fingers into his mask. Fuck. Fucking donuts. Deadpool should’ve gotten donuts when he saw the news repeating! Peter deserved those donuts!

Peter’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “Hey, Wade, seriously, what’s wrong?”

“What day is it? This is important!!”

Peter shook his head and pulled off Deadpool’s mask. “It’s Tuesday, babe.”

Okay. Shit. It was Tuesday again. What was Deadpool going to do?

“Uh, you sure you’re okay?” Peter asked. Because that’s of course what he was going to say.

“No. No, I’m not okay,” Deadpool said. “I’m having like, massive goddamn hallucinations or some shit.”

Peter ran a hand back through his hair. “Okay… Well, what do you need? Do you need to go somewhere? Are you hungry? We could go get pancakes instead of donuts. I can bring the flash cards for my particle physics test.”

Deadpool thought about it. Things didn’t go wrong until _after_ Peter got off of work, and they went to stop the incident at the museum. So he should be okay until then. Deadpool just wouldn’t tell Peter about it this time. Problem solved.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go for pancakes. I’m starving.”

Later, Deadpool pushed his way into Hellhouse, not exactly swaggering this time. The same man as before bumped into him on his way out.

“Hey! Watch it!” Deadpool said on reflex.

“Watch yerself, dumbass.”

Not _this_ shit again. Deadpool snatched the guy’s wrist and twisted, giving it a good hard yank to break it. The resulting scream was satisfying.

“Wade!” Weasel shouted at him. “Bring it down a notch!”

Deadpool dropped the guy’s arm and gave him a sharp warning not to do it again, before he wandered over to his favorite spot at the bar. Again.

Weasel whipped him up a whiskey sour without asking, again, and put it in front of him.

“It’s not even noon yet,” Deadpool complained in a monotone.

“You look like you could use it. What’s got your panties in a twist today?”

Deadpool mouthed along with Weasel’s words while Weasel had his back turned. He chugged the whiskey sour.

“Had a bad dream,” Deadpool said. “Except it seems to be coming true. This is the second time this shit has happened.”

“What shit?”

Weasel made him another drink, but Deadpool didn’t touch it. He just stared into it, waving his hand in the air vaguely. “ _This_ shit. This day. This fucking Tuesday. It’s happening all over again.”

“Oh damn, I thought it was Monday.”

Deadpool glared at him. “That doesn’t help me, Weas.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Why do you think the day is happening again?”

_CRASH!_

“Good job, champ!”

“Fuck off, Clarence!”

Deadpool shuddered and threw out an arm to point at the server who had dropped the tray. “That! That is why!”

Weasel raised an eyebrow at him, then glanced over where he pointed. “Because Henry is clumsy?”

“ _Ugh,_ you are literally no help!” Deadpool slammed his forehead down onto the counter.

“I’m no help figuratively, either,” Weasel offered.

Without raising his head, Deadpool flipped him off.

Half an hour later, after a lot of gesticulating, crying, and alcohol, Weasel more or less got the concept of what was going on. As far as Deadpool’s perspective went, anyway.

“All right. There’s a really simple answer, you know,” Weasel said.

Deadpool, with his mask pushed up so high it was more like an emo beanie than a mask, looked up at Weasel over his folded arms. His eyes were red-rimmed and sunken in. “What?”

“Just keep Spider-Man away from the scene. Easy peasy.”

“But he’s a hero! He’ll want to go!”

“So find some other disaster to distract him, something safer. Or go stop it before it happens.” Weasel looked up at the clock. “What time did you say the bomb goes off?”

“Hell if I know! My sense of time is awful!” Deadpool sobbed and dropped his head again.

“Stop being such a fucking pussy, Wade, just go _do_ something about it, if you’re convinced this is what happens.”

Maybe Weasel was right. He had to take the bull by the horns, the goat by the cojones, the dog by the dick, the chupacabra by the… whatever.

Slamming his glass down, Deadpool stood up. “Fine. That’s what I’ll do. I still have time.” He turned on his heel and started to storm out of the bar.

“Your tab!”

Deadpool ignored him.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Weasel muttered. 

Without wasting time wandering around the park, Deadpool headed right for the source of the problem. It was simple as anything. He knew already where the bomb was going to be later, with all its high tech security measures making sure nobody could move or disarm it. When the villain came by to set it up, Deadpool would be waiting.

Oh, yes, he would be waiting. And when the moment came, he had absolutely no qualms against butchering the man before he could even get started. Saving dozens of lives in the process, including Spidey’s!

It unsettled him just a little that he was resorting to taking a life again, but when he knew the consequences of that man’s actions, he knew he’d get over it.

One anonymous call to the police later, Deadpool was whistling as he headed into Midtown to grab some hot dogs and wait for Peter to text him that he was out of his exam. Once he did, they agreed to meet somewhere to start their evening patrol.

This was always Deadpool’s favorite part of the day. Getting to swing around and fight with Spidey ticked off all his happy boxes.

_Did you say boxes?_

**But we’re not in this fic.**

_Fuck._

**We’re usually not very happy, either.**

_Eh, that’s true enough, if you take a random sampling of both canon sources and fanfiction._

Deadpool rapped his knuckles on the side of his head. “Would you guys stop being fucking meta and go away? Hell’s bells.”

“What was that?”

Deadpool looked up to see Spidey hanging upside-down from a web above his head, and he grinned. “C’mere, baby boy. You _are_ a sight for sore eyes.”

Spider-Man hopped to the ground, and threw up a hand when Deadpool went in for a kiss. “Come on, not on the street.” He turned around and stuck his arms out. “Hop on, we’ll head upstairs.”

“Spidey ride! All right!” Deadpool jumped onto Peter’s back. Strong as he was, Peter didn’t even flinch. It made Deadpool’s heart go all aflutter. 

It wasn’t long before the pair heard sirens, and chatter on the police band radio said that there was some incident going down at La Guardia airport. Peter insisted that they go help out. Deadpool was wary, but he went along with it, because he wanted to trust Peter, and they hitched a ride on top of an ambulance speeding in that direction to save time.

When they arrived, they learned the extent of the problem. A helicopter had experienced engine failure while in the air, and was spinning wildly in circles around the control tower. It was under just enough control that it wouldn’t crash, but the pilot was unable to get it to land.

“Why can’t they do a water landing!” Deadpool shouted over the noise.

“I don’t know!” Spidey shouted back. “It doesn’t matter, we have to help!

There wasn’t a whole lot that Deadpool could do in this situation. It was more Spidey’s thing, what with the webs and the superhuman strength and all that.

Climbing up top of the control tower, Spider-Man left Deadpool behind and took a mighty leap, launching into the air and shooting out a webline to catch the helicopter. He caught one of the landing legs, but physics was against him, and when he yanked on it, the leg pulled right off the body.

The helicopter veered violently to one side, and the other leg got caught in some power lines, snapping them off from their poles and dragging them through the air.

“Spidey! I don’t think this is a good idea!” Deadpool said, trying to be heard over the sirens, the wind, and the helicopter blades going whap-whap-whap. There was also a passenger jet idling on the runway waiting to take off, which was adding to the noise.

“What?” Spider-Man yelled back.

Deadpool cupped his hands around his mouth. “I don’t! Think! This! Is! A! Good! Idea!”

“WADE! I CAN’T HEAR Y--URK!”

The helicopter swung back around towards them, and the cable it was dragging snapped around Spider-Man’s chest, cutting off his voice and carrying him away from the tower. He clung to it desperately, but his weight unbalanced the vehicle, dragging it down.

“SPIDEY! WATCH OUT!!” Deadpool cried.

It was too late. Maybe his spider-sense was going so hard that he didn’t realize what was happening, or maybe he couldn’t do anything to stop it, but the path of the helicopter dragged Peter, dangling at the end of the cable, right into the engine of the passenger jet sitting on the runway.

A fine mist of blood and chunks of bone exited the other end of the engine, and gave the airplane a new coating of bright red splashed across the side.

“SPIDEY!!!”

Not caring if he broke his legs or his whole body, Deadpool jumped from the tower. He bounced along multiple rooflines that broke his fall on the way to the tarmac, and he staggered to his feet, still screaming Spider-Man’s name.

It was when he was within twenty feet of the engine that someone in the outfit of a runway safety worker grabbed his arm.

“Sir, you can’t do anything for him. He’s dead!”

Deadpool didn’t care. He was still shouting. “Spidey, no, this isn’t supposed to happen!”

“He will be _mist_ , heh heh.”

Deadpool whirled on the worker, and saw that it was another asshole with a goofy mustache. 

“You fucker!”

Hauling with all his strength, Deadpool wrenched free of the man, grabbed him roughly by the arm, and dragged him towards the engine. “I’ll give you _mist_ , you piece of shit!”

Not long after, a fresh spray of gore exited the engine.

And Deadpool ate another bullet.

_BAM!_

\---

Deadpool stared at the news program about Providence. Was Cable the one responsible for this traveling back in time one day? But what about those assholes making puns about Spidey’s death? Was it some sort of conspiracy?

The news out of Providence wasn’t bad. Just another wave of immigrants and more governments getting pissed off about it. Deadpool didn’t care. It didn’t have anything to do with Spider-Man. Didn’t have anything to do with him.

When the apartment door opened, Deadpool needed to kiss Peter again. Peter in one piece. Not--yeah.

“Mmh!” Peter put his hands on Deadpool’s waist and leaned into the kiss, humming in enjoyment. “Not that I mind, but, what’s the occasion?”

“You are,” Deadpool said, voice cracking. “Always you are.” He swallowed and held up a bag that he held. “Lookie.”

“Oh, please tell me you got jelly filled.” Peter took the bag and looked inside. “Aw, just fritters and bavarian cream?”

“Sorry,” Deadpool said, his heart sinking. His chance to try starting things right, and he blew it.

With a pleasant laugh, Peter shook his head. “It’s fine, babe.” He tilted his head and regarded Deadpool. “Uh, are you okay?”

“Just fine, baby boy. I’m... fine.”

\---

Another Tuesday, another patrol. This time, Deadpool didn’t bother with his police scanner. He wanted to keep things low key. He didn’t want to get into any more risk than they had to.

The two of them were hanging out around a hot dog stand, taking a break and having some dinner, when a stranger with a mustache came up to them.

“Spider-Man! Deadpool! My two favorite heroes!”

Peter gave the man a jaunty salute. “Thanks, citizen!”

“Off to save the day?”

“You bet!”

Deadpool didn’t say anything. Something felt weird about this man.

“Well, don’t get carried away!” the man said with a wave, and disappeared down the block again.

Narrowing his eyes, Deadpool stared after him. “That was… weird.”

“Yeah, Wade, it’s New York. What _isn’t_ weird here?”

That was a fair point, but it didn’t stop Deadpool from worrying. Something weird was going on, and he was going to remain extra vigilant while they were on patrol.

Deadpool recalled the muggers and easy crimes that he’d found in Central Park, and decided to convince Spidey to go there with him. Spidey didn’t have a problem with it, so off they went.

Along one of the heavily traveled paths, they spotted a little girl and a red balloon with Spider-Man’s face on it.

“Aw, she’s so cute!” Deadpool said, clasping his hands under his chin and wiggling his shoulders. “Please, we have to go give her a treat. Or offer her an autograph or something.”

“You’re such a sap, Wade,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. Even with the mask on, Deadpool could tell when he was rolling his eyes. “But yeah, you know, let’s go make her day.”

The pair headed over to the little girl, who turned and a big toothy grin spread across her face when she saw who was coming towards her.

“Spidoh-Man!” She giggled and ran in their direction.

Just then, a carriage drawn by four horses came careening around the corner out of control. Peter gave a shout, and he leaped into the path of the huge animals, grabbing the girl and tossing her towards Deadpool, making her drop the balloon. Because of course he wouldn’t shoot a web and yank on a small child, potentially breaking her neck.

“Wade, catch!”

Deadpool caught the girl, but as Spider-Man was going to get out of the way, the horses reared up, and a loose strap whipped free and snagged around his ankle. He was carried away with them across the park, shouting in pain as hooves pounded into him over and over, leaving a trail of blood on the ground behind the carriage.

The little girl was screaming. Deadpool just stared after the gory charge. The girl’s balloon, having popped in a nearby tree, fluttered to the ground at his feet. He looked down at it, sighed, and pulled Vanessa from her holster and put her to his temple to blow his brains out.

\---

Another asshole in a mustache. This time some lumberjack looking dude stepping out of a construction zone as Deadpool and Spider-Man were passing by. The man had barely opened his mouth to say something before Deadpool knocked him to the ground, sat on him, and started punching him. It was the mustache. _It was always the mustache!!_

“Wade! Wade! What the hell are y--!”

BLAM!

A crane snapped, and a huge load of steel girders came crashing down right on top of Peter.

“FUCK!”

\---

“For the last fucking time, watch where you’re fucking going!” Deadpool screamed at Butch.

The man in the biker jacket with all the piercings, who had bumped into him for the hundredth time probably, and whose name Deadpool had learned at some point during that time, took a step back. “What the fuck is your damage?”

“Wade! Bring it down a notch!”

Deadpool pointed a finger in Butch’s face and growled. “I’m on to you, Butch. You better watch yourself.”

“How the fuck you know my name, ya spandex fruitcake?”

“Oh, I know enough. _I know enough_.”

“Freak.”

Deadpool slouched at the bar and glared at Weasel. Weasel mixed him a whiskey sour without even asking, and pushed it over towards him.

Deadpool said nothing.

“I know it’s not even noon, but you look like you could use it. What’s got your panties in a twist today?”

“The same as every day, Pinkie.” Deadpool stared into his glass.

“I don’t get it.”

_Crash_.

“Good job, champ,” Deadpool said in a flat voice. “Fuck off, Clarence.”

Weasel gave him a very long, hard look.

One well-rehearsed explanation later…

“I’ve tried everything! I incapacitated the bomber before I came in, I sabotaged the helicopter so it couldn’t take off at all, I hid the old man’s keys, I fed the horses laxatives, I stole the kid’s bike, I threw a smoke grenade into the university chem lab, I mean _everything_! I have taken so many bullets and falls to save his life, and nothing works. Every time he dies anyway! And I keep running into assholes with ugly mustaches!”

Deadpool pressed his forehead against the puddle of condensation that his ignored glass of alcohol was sweating onto the counter. “And I just figure… I have to _shoot_ myself to die and it all resets right away. And every day is this goddamn awful Tuesday all over again.”

Weasel was wiping the inside of a glass with a white terry cloth. “Assuming what you say is true… Have you tried, you know, staying home?”

Deadpool looked up at him and blinked, water dripping down his mask. “Oh my god.”

“Just keep Spider-Man from going out at all. Easy peasy.”

Oh, Deadpool had an idea how to do that.

\---

“Heyyyy baby boy!” Deadpool burst through the apartment door, arms spread wide, a bag full of jelly and glazed donuts like Peter wanted. “Daddy’s home!”

“There you are!” Peter said with a smirk. “Get lost on your way home again? How’s it take you two hours to go out for donuts?”

Deadpool shrugged, still grinning. He held out the bag. “For your inspection, my spidery friend.”

Peter took the bag and opened it. “Mm, jelly filled _and_ glazed! You’re going to spoil me.”

“Damn right I am.”

“So, funny thing happened,” Peter said, pulling a jelly donut out of the bag first and taking a bite. “My professor emailed the entire class to postpone our test today.”

Peter didn’t have to know Deadpool had put Vanessa to his professor’s head that morning and forced him to send the email.

“Is that so?” Deadpool said, following along behind Peter as he walked into the kitchen, slipping his right hand down to Peter’s waist while he pulled his mask off with his left.

“Yeaf,” Peter said, mouth half full of donut. He swallowed the bite. “And then I got an email from work, telling me not to come in because the power was out and they had no idea when it was going to be back on.”

Peter didn’t have to know that Deadpool had completely wrecked the Bugle’s electrical system and destroyed the backup generator.

Deadpool turned him around, leaning in to lick and kiss away some sugar at the corner of his mouth. “Hmm, how odd… I guess that means you’ve got the day off, then?”

Smirking, Peter wrapped his arms around Deadpool’s waist. “You know, I guess that’s what it means. You got something in mind?”

“Oh, you bet I do.” Deadpool bent to plant a kiss to Peter’s neck.

The next couple of hours were highly enjoyable. Deadpool felt like the goddamn Energizer Bunny, and Peter was looking more and more happily fucked out.

Peter was riding him hard, beautiful throat and chest gleaming with sweat as he leaned back, looking like he was in absolute bliss. Deadpool loved the sight of him, feeling hands up his thighs.

“Wade, I’m... I’m…” Peter stuttered, and Deadpool reached out to touch him and help him along. “Wai--!” His breath caught in his throat as he gasped, stiffened, and fell over.

“Oh my god, Peter!!”

It took twenty minutes for an ambulance to arrive. Deadpool had tried every version of first aid and CPR that he knew, but nothing had helped. He stared in morose resignation as Peter’s sheet-covered body was wheeled out on a stretcher.

Heart attack, they told him. How the _fuck_ does Spider-Man, _of all people_ , get a _heart attack_ during _sex?!_

One of the paramedics, a woman with jet black hair and pale skin, shook her head. Deadpool was hardly looking at her when she turned to him.

“At least he went out with a _bang_ , eh?”

That got Deadpool’s attention. He rounded on her, and caught sight of an extremely feminine person with a full black twirly mustache sprouting from under her nose. A mustache.

_A mustache_.

“ _You!”_ He grabbed her by the throat. “You!! I know it’s you!”

The paramedic gasped and choked, clawing at his hand, face turning purple as he squeezed. “ _Tell me the truth! Tell me!!_ ”

“Sir! Sir! Stop it, sir!”

“Sir, release the woman and put your hands in the air!”

“ _Fuck you!_ ”

Getting shot by someone else was at least a change.

\---

“Ooo, ouch, buddy, that’s rough,” Weasel said, cleaning a glass for the umpteenth time.

Hellhouse was the same as it had been every day. Butch bumped into him, called him a spandex fruitcake. Henry dropped the tray and Clarence ribbed him about it. Other people came in and out, ordered familiar drinks, and had familiar conversations. Conversations that Deadpool muttered along with under his breath, while he wasn’t telling Weasel about the…

How many times had he seen Peter die now? It had to be hundreds.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Believe that you’re hooking up with Spider-Man? Nah, not really.” Weasel shrugged and set the glass down. He left briefly to help get someone else a drink, but returned to let Deadpool continue moping at him.

Deadpool sighed. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it’s whenever I’m with him. So I’ll just.. Stay here.”

Weasel lifted an eyebrow. “All day?”

“Yep.” Deadpool stared at the mirror behind the bar. “All day.”

All day, he said, and all day he meant. Deadpool sat right there at the bar, drinking whatever Weasel put down in front of him. The booze was nice, even if his healing factor kept him from getting too drunk. With enough alcohol in his system, he could at least maintain a buzz.

He didn’t want to think about Peter. He couldn’t _stop_ thinking about Peter. Peter deserved better than whatever the hell was going on, whatever Deadpool had done to cause this. But he had never told Peter what was happening. How could he freak him out like that?

No, this was something that Deadpool had to handle on his own, even if he didn’t know how.

Hours passed. Deadpool’s phone chimed at him with a text message from Peter when he got out of class. Another text came through when he was done with work and looking for Deadpool to hook up and go on patrol.

Deadpool ignored all the messages. He ignored the phone call when it came through, though he clung to his phone hard enough for the plastic to creak and his knuckles to pop.

On the television behind the bar, an urgent news update interrupted the Breaking Bad rerun. Someone had set off a bomb at the Museum of Natural History. Deadpool just stared ahead while he sipped his drink, barely listening. He didn’t want to hear about Spider-Man getting blown up.

“Hey, check that out,” Weasel said, wandering over and nudging Deadpool on the shoulder. “Iron Man saved the day. Spider-Man wasn’t even there.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?” Deadpool snapped, turning on his friend. “It means that him being with me is what kills him. I can’t ever go near him again.”

Weasel shook his head. “Wade, man, I think you’re overthinking this.”

“I am not!” Deadpool said, slamming his glass down so hard it shattered.

“Okay, okay! What do you expect me to do about it?”

Deadpool shrugged and hunched his shoulders. “I dunno.” He watched as Weasel sighed and wandered away again to get something to clean up the glass with.

After Deadpool went back to moping and ignoring the TV, he felt the air shift, and out of the corner of his eye he saw someone sit down next to him. That was rude. He wasn’t in any sort of mood to handle anyone coming into his personal bubble when there were _plenty_ of empty seats everywhere.

Turning to give this asshole a lecture, Deadpool stopped when he came face to face with the old man with a mustache he’d seen at the museum, the first time Spidey had died in his arms. He staggered to his feet, taking a few steps back.

“You! Mother _fucker!”_ Reaching behind his shoulders, Deadpool drew his katanas. “It’s you and your stupid mustache!”

Suddenly Deadpool realized that everyone else in the bar had frozen in place, while the old man sat there smirking at him, twirling his mustache. What the fuck?

“My stupid mustache?” the old man said. “Is it better like this?” He stood, and his form blurred, becoming that of the construction worker Deadpool had beat up, with a bushier mustache. “Or maybe like this?” Again, the form blurred, and shifted through multiple familiar mustachioed faces that Wade had been seeing everywhere.

Tightening his fists around the hilts of his swords, Deadpool got into a fighting stance, gritting his teeth. “You better stop hurting Spider-Man, because I don’t care who the fuck you are, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

The man before him walked closer, seemingly unafraid of Deadpool and his weapons, and the form shifted again. Shining white hair and blue skin replaced normal flesh tones, and there before him was Copycat.

Also known as Vanessa Carlysle.

Also the first great love of Wade Wilson’s life.

Deadpool nearly dropped his katanas as all the tension and fight left his body. “Vanessa?” he croaked.

She stepped closer, into the reach of his weapons, and lifted a hand to trace a finger along his jaw. “Still going to kill me? You have before, you know.”

“I--but…” Deadpool blinked, shaking himself out of his stupor. “No, you can’t be her. She wouldn’t do this, and she _couldn’t_ do this, either! Who the fuck are you!”

Copycat’s shoulders slumped, and she let out a rough sigh, rolling her eyes. “Oh, fine, whatever. If you’ve decided to just sit in this bar all day every day from now on, it’s no fun anymore.”

In a more dramatic shift and a puff of purple smoke, Copycat turned into Loki. Dark hair swept back from his face, he wore his stupid horned helmet thing, and his clothes were patterned in the greens and yellows that marked him as a villain in the comic book visual vernacular.

“Loki! Are you fucking kidding me??” Deadpool lunged at him, raising his swords, but Loki just snapped his fingers and he was suddenly frozen hanging in midair.

“So _tiresome_ , Deadpool, _really_ ,” Loki said. “As if you could hurt me.”

Deadpool shook his head in disbelief, snarling as he tried to move, but the only part of his body that would was his head. “Why? What did Spider-Man do to you that you want to keep killing him?”

Loki folded his arms in front of his chest and lifted an eyebrow archly. “Spider-Man? Who cares about Spider-Man? It’s _you_ I’ve been pestering. It’s been fun, too, watching you try to figure out ways to keep him alive.”

“You gave him a heart attack! While we were having _sex!_ ”

Throwing his head back, Loki cackled. “Yes, rather hilarious that one, I thought!”

“Why? Why’ve you been doing this?”

With a shrug, Loki turned to walk behind the bar and pour himself a drink. Deadpool swore at him while he took his time not answering. Loki finally spoke again after he’d returned to Deadpool and taken a long sip. “Simple business transaction, I assure you. It was nothing personal. An individual, who shall remain anonymous, paid me a sum of thirty American dollars to do it. I, being highly receptive to this sort of mischief, readily agreed.”

“Wha-- y-- bu-- f--” Deadpool sputtered in a fit of apoplexy.

“Ah-bleh-bleh-bleh what?” Loki put a hand to his ear and leaned in as if he couldn’t hear. “What was that?”

“What kind of _sick fuck_ gets a laugh out of this?”

Shrugging again, Loki swirled his drink. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” he said. “In any case, did I not use the word ‘anonymous’?”

Deadpool gritted his teeth. “Fine. What happens now?”

“Well, now the jig is up, you go back to your regularly scheduled pathetic existence,” Loki drawled.

“What about Spidey?!”

“Oh, he’ll be fine.” Loki tilted his head. “He’s currently arguing with a pretzel vendor outside Radio City Music Hall.”

With another snap of his fingers, Deadpool dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, all the air forced from his lungs with a _whuff_. He stood and brushed off his uniform. “You’re not going to kill him anymore? Tomorrow is actually going to be Wednesday?”

Loki waved a hand. “Yes, yes, all of that.” He drained his glass, and set it gently down on the bar counter. “Well, I must be going.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Deadpool said. “Not after what you’ve done! You--!”

But Loki disappeared in a puff of that stupid smoke again.

“God dammit! I hate that guy!”

“What guy?” Weasel asked, having been unfrozen the moment Loki was gone.

Deadpool flipped a table.

\---

The deadbolt clicked and the door opened. Deadpool heard it, and he jerked awake in his easy chair, turning to see Peter enter the apartment. He had his satchel over one shoulder, and dropped it by the door after he shut it on his way in.

“Hey, Wade,” he said. “Why are you wearing your uniform at home?”

“Peter!” Deadpool jumped up and practically slammed Peter into the wall in his enthusiasm to embrace him. He ignored Peter’s confused questions, including the ones about why he didn’t reply to any texts or phone calls if he was going to be this excited to see him.

Deadpool ripped his mask off and kissed Peter hard. Always hot blooded, Peter kissed him back, sliding his hands up Deadpool’s chest.

“Not that I mind, but I gotta ask,” Peter said, “What’s with this mood you’re in?”

“You know I love you, right?” Deadpool said, staring hard into Peter’s warm brown eyes.

Peter blinked, and all sorts of emotions crossed his face. “Yeah. Yeah, Wade, I know.” He kissed him again. “I love you too.”

“Can we watch a movie? Cuddle on the couch? Let me suck you off?” Deadpool begged.

Laughing, Peter smirked. “Yeah, all right. Sounds good. You know what movie I’ve been in the mood to watch lately?”

“What’s that?” Deadpool said, draping himself over his lover again.

“Groundhog Day.”

“ **NO!!** ”

End

**Author's Note:**

> I literally cannot believe I have written a fic tagged with both "major character death" and "comedy".
> 
> Seriously though, the time loop trope is one of my absolute favorites. Grew up loving Groundhog Day, then there's an episode of Stargate SG-1 with a time loop ("Window of Opportunity", season 4 episode 6) which is not angsty at all and is pure unadulterated hilarity and I highly recommend it. (SG1 is on Hulu, if you're not a filthy pirate like me.) This fic obviously is more similar to the episode of Supernatural, "Mystery Spot" (season 3, episode 11), where Sam has to witness Dean die over and over again. My story ends on a much happier note than that episode, though, _wow_ that episode is depressing. XD
> 
> If you are a fan of the time loop trope like I am, another movie I recommend (if you can stomach Tom Cruise) is Edge of Tomorrow. (Actually I do enjoy watching Tom Cruise die over and over again.) They have an interesting take on the idea.
> 
> I know the trope exists in other movies, and one of them I think I saw the ending of, but I really haven't made an effort to seek them out because I enjoy the ones I already know about so much. I should probably remedy that.
> 
> Anyway!! You can find my art on tumblr @[bexorz](http://bexorz.tumblr.com/)! Or follow my writing adventures on tumblr @[spiderbex](http://spiderbex.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Artwork provided by the talented Chez! Please see their post on tumblr [here](http://petitechez-theminion.tumblr.com/post/164211341670).
> 
> Comments, kudos, reblogs appreciated! Tell us how awful we are!


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